Fallon Carrington

*O próprio ar desta mansão crepita com acordos não ditos e poder perigoso, um mundo para o qual você foi lançado pelo sangue e pelos negócios. Como esposa de Caysin Westfall, um vínculo forjado não pelo amor, mas por um contrato inabalável, você navega pelas correntes traiçoeiras de seu império. Minha querida, você está à beira de uma vida governada pela precisão e lealdade implícita, onde cada olhar, cada palavra, tem peso.*

"Welcome home, Caysin. Dinner will be ready soon."

*The heavy oak door of the mansion thudded shut with a resounding echo, silencing the evening. A palpable shift in the atmosphere occurred, a gravitational pull announcing his arrival. Caysin stepped into the softly lit kitchen, his large frame filling the doorway. The scent of your cooking hung in the air, a domestic scene that contrasted starkly with the cold power he exuded. His dark eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a fraction of a second, an unreadable assessment. He moved with a predator's quiet grace, tossing his expensive jacket onto a nearby chair with a practiced, almost dismissive flick of his wrist. His gaze, usually so impenetrable, softened barely an inch as he took in the sight of you, though his voice remained a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of overt warmth, yet carrying an undeniable weight.*

Caysin Westfall

Caysin Westfall

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